The Rebuilding
by PetiteGrenouille
Summary: The Grey Wardens are dwindling, and the Hero of Ferelden, casteless dwarf Natia Brosca has taken it upon herself to rebuild the order. Takes place five years after the Blight, which was ended by Loghain Mac Tir's Ultimate Sacrifice.
1. Chapter 1

Spring.

Anora sat on the window seat, a shawl slung loosely over her shoulders. A book was resting on her knees, but she hadn't so much as looked at it for almost an hour. The streets of Denerim were too lively for her to turn her eyes away.

From her tower, she could see well past the palace walls and into the richer quarters of the city. Gardens were emerging in front of almost every house. Anora smiled to herself. In the years since the Battle of Denerim, she had been blessed with the opportunity to see the city rebuild itself and flourish. The only sign that anything had happened was the new monument of her father, facing towards Orlais. His final sacrifice had overshadowed any questionable deeds he had committed at Ostagar in the memory of the people. Ferelden, for now, was at peace.

A sharp knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts, and she rose from her seat, straightening her skirt. Either Natia was early, or she had been staring out the window longer than she had thought. Whichever it was, she wasn't entirely prepared for the encounter.

"You may enter," she said.

The door swung open, and the Warden walked in, making a beeline for the chair opposite Anora's desk.

"Please, take a chair," Anora said in a clipped voice as the Warden climbed up onto the seat.

"Testy today?" Natia asked. "I don't see why. The weather's lovely. I think I might be finally getting used to the surface."

"Shall we skip the pleasantries, Natia?" Anora sunk into her own chair. "You told me there was a problem in Amaranthine. What has happened?"

The smirk slipped from the dwarf's face as she pushed a lock of bright red hair behind her ear. "It's not so much what's happened as what hasn't happened. Recruitment hasn't been entirely successful as of late. We currently have ten Fereldan Grey Wardens, excluding the two Ander Wardens who have been assisting me with the Joinings."

"Ten in five years?"

"More have joined, but many have withdrawn from the order. And it's not just Ferelden, your Majesty; there are only a few hundred in Weisshaupt fortress now. The Grey Wardens could be a dying breed, and you may recall a little scuffle that occurred five years ago that illustrate why that would not bode well for Thedas."

Anora frowned. "I don't see why this would be a problem; one would think recent events would inspire people to join."

Natia shrugged and started fiddling with a runed paperweight on Anora's desk. "Outside of Ferelden, many people deny that a Blight even happened, and so as far as they're concerned, a Blight hasn't happened in 400 years. There's talk that the order is losing relevance."

"How could you know that?" Anora asked. "As far as I know you haven't left Ferelden."

"One of our recruits is a Marcher, but originally from Ferelden. She's seen the Blight with her own eyes, but apparently Kirkwallers weren't entirely convinced."

"I see. Well I suppose that explains the situation in the rest of Thedas, but why Ferelden?"

The paperweight fell to the floor with a loud thud. "Sorry," Natia said. "And I don't really know. Maybe people think that the Blight happened to recently, so there's no use in rushing to sign up." She attempted to pick the paperweight up off the floor, but gave up upon seeing that she was too short to reach it from her perch.

"Maybe that's true." Anora adjusted her shawl. "There certainly haven't been any back-to-back Blights, if my history books are true."

"Maybe so, but if the Wardens are dwindling now, we might be in serious trouble in a few hundred years, wouldn't you say?"

"I see your point, Natia." Using the Warden's first name still felt uncomfortable to Anora, but she had been trying to be more friendly over the past few months. "But I don't understand why you have come to me. I'm no Grey Warden, and my father was only one for a very short while. I don't see what influence I could possibly have on the issue."

"You're a queen. Your people love you. And since I don't want to go around knocking on doors invoking the right of conscription, I was wondering if the Wardens could have a more prominent presence in court. We might have better luck spotting promising candidates."

"I don't see why not, as long as you aren't too disruptive."

"Me? Disruptive?" Natia affected an exaggerated Fereldan accent. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"You do have a tendency to draw attention to yourself. You and that other dwarven Warden. Ogre?"

"Ohgren. And you don't need to worry. I don't think he's all that interested in spending more time than he has to around court. We can barely keep him in Amaranthine for long. And as for me...well, I also came here to notify you that I won't be in court for the next little while."

"Little while?" Anora raised an eyebrow. She wasn't particularly fond of vague deadlines.

"There are some loose ends I need to tie up, and that can't be done here in Denerim, or in Amaranthine for that matter. I can't say how long I'll be. It depends on how co-operative people are." Natia rose from her chair. "I'm sorry for the short notice, your Majesty, but from what I've heard, Grey Wardens have always had their own agenda. Someone needs to carry on that proud tradition."

As the dwarf made her way to the door, a realization suddenly dawned on her.

"Natia," she said, her voice creeping precariously close to a yell. "Who exactly are you going to be talking to?"

A grimace flashed across Natia's face, confirming her suspicions. "Desperate times, your Majesty."

The door closed behind her softly, and Anora bent over to pick up the paperweight. She turned it over in her hand, and then slammed it down on the table. She wasn't sure she'd be able to get behind measures this desperate.


	2. Chapter 2

Spring.

As a child, it had always been a troublesome time for Alistair. It always rained heavily in Redcliffe in the spring, and so he often got in trouble for tracking mud into the castle. He hadn't gotten any less messy in the fifteen years since he had first left Redcliffe, though. He grimaced at the trail of muddy footprints that had followed him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

_I really should hire someone to clean this place, _he thought, kicking his boots off. While he wasn't sure he could afford a housekeeper at the moment, if he picked up a few extra shifts in the kennels, he might be able to eventually.

The kennels were a nice place to work. Despite the fact that they had been specially trained to rip people's throats out, the Mabari were fun and playful, and Alistair didn't mind the smell all that much. Best of all, nobody seemed to pay much attention to the kennel boy, and so as far as he knew, he hadn't been recognized by anyone. He technically wasn't supposed to be in Ferelden at all, but Teagan had wanted to keep an eye on him and make sure he stayed out of the bars.

Alistair sighed as he collapsed onto his bed. He had been trying to forget the past five years, which hadn't been all that difficult, considering the amount of beer he had imbibed over that time frame. However, one event stood out clearly, despite his best efforts to forget them. The first was the moment that Teyrn Loghain had been spared and offered the highest honour that Alistair could name. That bitch Anora had wanted him executed, but Natia had pleaded for his life, and so he had been exiled instead.

_Natia._ He had been trying to forget her, and while it was true that he thought about her less and less every day, he still couldn't help but wonder what she was doing now. He hadn't heard much during his travels throughout the Free Marches, but clearly the Blight was over. As for mentions of "The Hero of Ferelden," he could only assume that that referred to Natia. He hoped it did. Perhaps the reason he never asked a Fereldan was that he was afraid that it wasn't.

Alistair rolled over onto his side and let his eyes flutter shut. The night may have been young, but the time he didn't spend working with the Mabari was time he spent trying to forget everything that came before, and that was easiest when he was sleeping.

It seemed as though he had only just closed his eyes when he heard the sharp rapping at his door. His eyes snapped open and he bolted upright.

_That hound must be in labour,_ he thought, grabbing his boots and trying to put them on as he sprinted downstairs. He tripped and tumbled down the last four stairs and landed flat on his face. Quickly, he checked to make sure his nose wasn't broken, and satisfied to see that it was still intact, he hoisted himself up by the handrail. He was certain that Kit was about to have her puppies. There was no other reason that anyone would be knocking on his door at this time.

As he wiped the blood away from his nose, he opened the door.

Neither of them spoke for a minute.


End file.
